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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789705">I'm Out of Hiding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnkwy/pseuds/frnkwy'>frnkwy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Imaginary Friends, One Shot, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, kid AU, ouchie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:29:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnkwy/pseuds/frnkwy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin was Michael's imaginary friend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gavin Free/Michael Jones, but not really bc they're children</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Out of Hiding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a little one shot I wrote a Long Time Ago. re-upload. I hope you enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael was alone.</p><p>The air was sticky and warm and fireflies served as tiny flashlights, lighting up the slightly overgrown garden. He sat in a patch of clovers that he begged to not be mowed over and he let the gardenia leaves tickle his leg as hot tears wet his face and dripped on to the weeds below him. His hands were tucked neatly in his lap as he wept, both frightened of and thankful for the humid darkness wrapping him in its arms.</p><p>The sky was black and stars were barely shining through the oily midnight tide. Michael laid down on his back and squinted at them, battling for their place in the sky. He wiped his face and felt a lump in his throat the size of an apple, but pushed the feeling down until he just felt a kind of pathetic feeling in his stomach.</p><p>“They’re very pretty.” a voice said. He shot up, wiping his eyes hastily, but saw no one. After three minutes of sitting, terrified and confused, he laid back down slowly.</p><p>“They are.” he said awkwardly, feeling silly. His cheeks warmed up and he could have sworn he heard a giggle that made him want to laugh, himself. He looked back up toward the sky, and the stars looked a little brighter.</p><p>He no longer felt the damp air invading his lungs, or the hot breeze making him feel groggy and sick; his clammy forehead and sweaty palms were dried and he felt a cool sensation in his chest, like his heart was in an ice box.</p><p>Michael fell asleep not much later, in the middle of his mother’s garden. She found him the next morning surrounded by her prized gardenia trees that seemed to bloom overnight. He had a smile on his lips and even in the warm morning sun, his skin was cool.</p><p> </p><p>When he was older, he remembered other times strange things happened, he just didn’t realize it.</p><p>“Michael, go play outside.” his mother said, after the third time he had gone to her saying he was bored. She was cooking and her hair was tied up in a bun that made her face look tighter, more extreme. He mumbled but obeyed, and slunk out the door and over to her garden. He always loved her garden, it was quiet and she loved it too. They had that in common.</p><p>He would always sit in a corner between a pink rose bush and a gardenia tree and read or play with his toys. That day, he didn’t have anything. He sat, dejected, in the corner until something caught his attention. A snake was curled up in the middle of the herbs, resting its head under the wide basil leaves. Michael grabbed a stick off the ground and decided his mother would be happy if he helped get rid of the snake overtaking her garden. She hated snakes.</p><p>He edged close, holding the stick in his hand and keeping it pointed at the snake. He was about to poke it before something took his hand and pulled him away, taking the stick with it. He looked around, but didn’t see anything.</p><p> </p><p>On Christmas day, he found out his father built him a playground. He ran straight to the swings, where there was a high one and a low one. The slide had steps leading up to it. Real, proper wooden steps! Michael was delighted, and spent the rest of the day running up and down with his new winter coat and his red hat with a big puffy ball on top.</p><p>He climbed up to the mouth of the yellow plastic slide and prepared to launch himself down, but his hat blew off his head and thankfully caught itself on a screw coming from the top of the slide. Michael climbed on top of the railing and reached out as far as his little arm could to try to get it.</p><p>He moved his foot and felt it start to slip. Before he went crashing to the ground, headfirst, he felt a sharp tug on the back of his coat. It hurt his neck, but he was pulled over the other side and merely hit his back on the other railing. His mother came running out when she heard him cry, and as she hugged him, he could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief. It was not his mother’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>He remembered having an imaginary friend without a body; a friend who liked the garden as much as he did. He remembered naming him Gavin, and all the nights he’d stay up talking to him.</p><p>Michael watched excitedly as the sun went down and he immediately ran outside and called out for his friend. He stood on the spot, shifting from leg to leg, until he heard a disembodied voice next to him.</p><p>“Michael!” he cried, just like he did every day. He never once greeted him in a sour mood.</p><p>“Gavin! Look, I caught a frog today!” Michael pulled a plastic tupperware container from behind his back and held it up in no particular direction. Gavin ‘oooo’d and Michael grinned as he dumped it back onto the grass. It sat, startled, for a moment before hopping away back towards the garden. Everybody wanted to be there, it seemed.</p><p>“I caught it over by the plum tree! Frogs like plums, maybe.”</p><p>“What else did you do today?” Gavin asked, and Michael told him how he almost fell into the lake because he was leaning too far off the dock, and how loud the ducks were when he threw bread into the water. He couldn’t see his friend’s face, but he knew he was listening. He could feel him.</p><p> </p><p>“You there?” Michael whispered. He was under his comforter with his dad’s flashlight facing towards the sheets in case either of his parents came in. “Gavin. We should build a fort tomorrow.”</p><p>There was a pause. “Well, you can make it and I’ll watch.” he whispered even if he didn’t have to.</p><p>“Why? We can make it together.” Michael said to his blanket. </p><p>“I…” Gavin stopped. </p><p>“What?” Michael asked, impatient with his friend now.</p><p>“I can’t like, move stuff all the time. I can’t even really feel anything.” </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Gavin whispered, he sounded sad. Michael felt bad.</p><p>“My birthday is next weekend. You know I’m turning eight? Well, I’ll wish for you to be able to touch things all the time. Maybe I’ll be able to see you! Wouldn’t that be great?”</p><p>“It would! We could play tag! During the day!” Gavin cheered, and Michael shushed him. Gavin laughed that bell of a laugh and Michael was a hundred times more excited for his birthday.</p><p> </p><p>His birthday weekend, he was standing in the kitchen with half of his family surrounding him, staring. His parents, two pairs of aunts and uncles, four cousins all older than him by at least ten years, his grandpa, and his great aunt. </p><p>His great aunt smiled a toothless smile and waved her small hand at the cake. “Make a wish, sweetie.” </p><p>The sun had just set, so he knew Gavin was in the room somewhere. He closed his eyes, smiling, and blew the eight different-colored candles out with all his might. Everyone cheered and clapped, and one of his aunts hugged him really tight. He immediately excused himself and sprinted outside before his mother could stop him. </p><p>“Michael! Your family is so big! And nice!” Gavin shouted when Michael ran behind the holly bush on the far side of the garden. </p><p>“Did it work? Can you feel anything?” he held out his hand, palm up.</p><p>A few moments went by with nothing. A wave of disappointment washed over him and he was about to put his hand down when he felt the smallest pressure on his hand, like a leaf had landed there. But there was no leaf.</p><p>Michael’s eyes widened as big as the moon and he didn’t know what to do.</p><p>“Wait, you felt that? Did you feel that?” Gavin yelled, and Michael smiled so wide he thought his head would split in half. They spent the night running around the yard, having Gavin pick up an acorn or blow on a rosebush. His ability to touch things faded later, but they were so happy they didn’t care all that much. Michael sat down in a deck chair when he got tired and Gavin talked to him until he fell asleep.</p><p> </p><p>Michael remembered when Gavin stopped coming when he called.</p><p>“Gavin?” he shouted, just after sundown. Like usual. He had so much to tell him; he had a busy day.</p><p>Silence. Michael knew he was just playing a trick on him. He liked to do that.  “Come on, Gavin. Come out! It’s not fair, I can’t see where you’re hiding.”</p><p>He stayed out there for another hour, calling for him. He sat next to the plum tree and waited a bit longer, before deciding he probably had something to do. He went back to his room and his mother asked why he was in so early. He said he was tired. He wasn’t, but he got into bed anyway.</p><p>The next night, he tried again. Nothing. Michael was confused and hurt. Where could he have gone? Did he do something wrong? Why was Gavin ignoring him?</p><p>He went outside, night after night, yelling at empty space in the hopes that Gavin would return and greet him happily like he always did. Michael gave up eventually, too. His heart was broken by a ghost.</p><p>As Michael got older, he convinced himself that Gavin was just an imaginary friend, like most kids have when they’re young. He tried to forget about the times something invisible saved him. He tried to forget about Gavin touching his hand on his eighth birthday. Sometimes, though, when he heard the whistling or trees groaning, he thought of the nights he slept outside in the clovers and wished Gavin would appear out of nowhere. </p><p>He grew up. He moved on, and he liked to think that Gavin did too.</p><p> </p>
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